


Crispin Head-In-The-Air

by Darevskia (Phrynosoma)



Series: Asexual Folktales [3]
Category: Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Asexuality, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 12:55:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20778917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phrynosoma/pseuds/Darevskia
Summary: A retelling of the fairy tale "Blockhead Hans," written for (and in some ways about) a friend in the style of something it might be fun to read to a child.





	Crispin Head-In-The-Air

There was once a princess who didn’t want to marry, but the laws of the land demanded it. Henceforth, she put out a royal proclamation that she would choose a husband by the end of the year, and that any and all suitors could seek her hand at the palace. She would choose the man who chose his words best, she said, but wouldn’t give any indication as to what that might mean.

In this country lived a jolly old squire who had three sons. The town adored the squire and his family and cheered at the notion that someone from the squire’s line might become the new king. Each of the sons had met the princess exactly once, at a grand ball thrown for her father’s golden jubilee, and each had their reasons to seek out the princess’s hand. The oldest son was a chevalier; strong and courageous, noble and brave. He recalled the princess’s great beauty and storied family tree; she would make a fine wife for a warrior-king. He knew many things of warfare and tactics and the strength one needed to rule a kingdom. When he declared that he would set out to seek the princess’s hand, the town was delighted to think that this fearless warrior might be their king.

The second son was a courtier; he was exceedingly beautiful and graceful, and knew much of poetry and song. He charmed everyone at court with his dancing and his skillful tongue; his words were like honey and roses. He recalled the princess’s great elegance and grace; she would make a fine wife for a king whose court would be the most beautiful in the world. He knew how to be diplomatic and polite, and he knew many things about the political alliances one needed to build to rule a kingdom. When he declared that he would seek the princess’s hand, the town eagerly anticipated the chance of having such a handsome king who would be known for the elegance of his court.

Then there was the third son, called Crispin, sometimes Crispin Head-In-The-Air when his brothers got annoyed with him. He was a quiet lad, who cared little for the battleground or the court, or even for the company of others all that much. He had a sly wit, and his recollection of the princess was that she wasn’t fond of dancing and seemed horribly bored by her suitors. He empathized greatly, for while his brothers could have had their pick of any woman in the town, he’d never been so desirable. He didn’t understand how or why he should just go up to someone and start making romantic overtures; and anyways, he was only a third son. But he thought at the very least he could try, and maybe get to see a little bit of the world and the court while he was at it. It would be nice to meet the princess and see the palace, so he declared that he would seek the princess’s hand. The town was deeply confused, for it hadn’t ever seemed like Crispin had any interest in anything outside his own head- how could such a man be a king?

Now, when the first brother set out, he rode his great destrier, a shining blood bay stallion with shaggy white hooves. When the second brother set out, he rode his beautiful palfrey, a graceful grey creature with flowers and ribbons plaited into its curled mane and tail. But when the third brother set out, he had no horse of his own, and with the harvest coming soon, not even a donkey could be spared. This did not dissuade Crispin one bit; he saddled up the old billy goat and set out for the capital city. Why should he not go? A goat would get him there just as well as a horse.

As Crispin rode through the forest, he came across a peddler laden with trinkets that might catch the eye of a fair lady. The peddler displayed ribbons and beads and crystals and lace, but as Crispin glanced at the wares, he couldn’t find anything worth buying. The lady was a princess, he thought, and surely any of these things she could have on a whim if she so chose. She probably had hundreds of ribbons already. Why should he give her another?

Still, it would be nice to take her _something_. He didn’t want to completely waste her time, and it would be polite to give her a present of some sort. As he rode along, he saw a beautiful black feather that would make a fine quill pen just off the path. But when he went to pick it up, he found that it was firmly attached to a dead crow, and try as he might, he couldn’t separate them. Shrugging, he put the crow in his bag; perhaps someone at the palace would lend him a knife.

When Crispin arrived at the palace, he found his two brothers waiting to go and have their audiences with the princess. They were rather surprised to see him. “Crispin!” boomed his eldest brother. “I thought you would give up!” He clapped his younger brother on the back. “Nice to see you out in the world of the living, even if you haven’t much of a chance of finding a bride here!”

“Crispin!” sang his middle brother. “I was sure you’d still be at home, dreaming with your head in the clouds. You’ve never traveled so far through the forest before, and on the back of a goat! What an air-headed thing to do.” He patted his younger brother’s shoulder. “I’m glad you made it, even though I fear your trip will be in vain.”

“It’s not in vain,” Crispin said, shaking off his brothers’ criticisms. “I got to see the forest, and the capital, and soon I’ll get to see inside the palace. I’ll get to talk to the princess, and maybe even meet some more important government ministers. There’s more to life than just marrying someone; getting to see the world a little bit and experiencing all of these things are worth doing.”

Soon it was the first brother’s turn to meet the princess. He went into the great hall, and then into a little hall where there was a huge fire roaring. The princess stood in front of it, flanked by several observers. She beckoned the knight to come forward to stand in front of the fire, then asked him to speak. But the heat of the fire and the inscrutable stare of the princess were too much for him, and his speech was stilted. He stammered out a few sentences about his prowess at war and how beautiful she was, but he melted under her withering gaze. As he held his hat and stammered, she smiled and shook her head. The knight was ushered out of the little hall and went back outside of the palace.

It was then the second brother’s turn to meet the princess. When he went into the little hall, the fire was roaring even hotter. He felt sweat drip down his nose from the heat. The princess addressed the courtier, asking him to state his piece. At first, he recited poetry. That went well, but when he began to explain how graceful and elegant the princess was, his nerves failed him and he began to trip over his own words. When he began to lose his place in the stanzas, the princess smiled and shook her head. The courtier was ushered out of the little hall and went back outside of the palace.

Then it was Crispin’s turn to enter the little hall, but the princess had stepped out. He took the opportunity to take the crow out and, not having a knife, held it in front of the fire and pulled at the feather, thinking that perhaps the heat would loosen the tough old crow’s flesh. As he did so, he heard the doors open and footsteps pacing in his direction.

“What _are_ you doing?” came a voice from behind him. He glanced over his shoulder to see the princess.

He scrambled for words. “I’m cooking dinner. What are _you_ doing, with a fire this hot?”

“Cooking young roosters one by one,” she replied with a dry laugh, then stooped to watch Crispin pulling at the crow’s feathers.

“That’s a fine way to cook a bird. Haven’t you got any cooking vessel? A pot, or a pan?”

“Madame,” he said, “I have a new and delightful portable cooking pot, with tin rings for convenience.” And with that, he pulled off his shoe, stuffing the crow inside. He dangled the shoe from its laces, held tight by reinforced eyelets. He dared to look over at the princess, who was smiling and trying to stifle a giggle.

“Isn’t there any sauce?” she said, and Crispin, not having any sauce whatsoever, scooped up some mud from off his other shoe and slapped it on the bird. At this, she truly laughed, and took Crispin’s hand. “What’s your name, sirrah?”

“Crispin, madame.”

“And are you madly in love with me?” she asked gazing into his eyes. Crispin could only shrug.

“No, madame.”

“Well, are you fond of me at least?”

“I suppose so.”

“Why?”

Crispin answered without thinking. “I saw you once at the palace, and you seemed bored and lonesome. I know what that’s like. When I heard that you were seeking a husband, I thought maybe if we were together, we would be less bored and less lonesome.”

“I don’t want to get married, you know.”

“I don’t really want to, either. But you have to- it’s the law.”

“Well, how about we marry each other, and live as friends?”

Crispin smiled. “I’d like that very much.”

And so they took each others’ hands and stepped outside to face the crowd. The princess composed herself and addressed her people.

“This is Crispin, and he will be my husband. When my father passes and I inherit the throne, he will be our king consort.”

  
Crispin stared out at the crowd sheepishly as the gathered throng gave a cheer. Plenty of them looked deeply puzzled, for Crispin was no muscle-bound knight, nor was he an elegant courtier. He was just a man standing there with one shoe on and the other held in hand with a filthy dead bird- but somehow he’d won the princess over with what he had to say. As conversation buzzed, a scribe and his pages pushed their way to the front.

“Your Highness,” called the scribe in a nasally voice. “What did he say? What were the magic words that wooed you?”

The princess hid her mouth with her hand. “Crispin, why don’t you tell them?” she said, and he could see her smiling slyly.

“What should I say?”

“Just give them your very best.”

So, not knowing what else to do, Crispin flung his shoe at the scribe, and at _this_ the princess had to sit down because she was shaking with laughter. The two of them knew they’d never be bored or lonesome- and even though neither of them wanted (and nor did they have) the marriage anyone expected, they were extremely happy for the rest of their lives.


End file.
